Less Bread! More Taxes!
by Starkiller
Summary: Death comes to us all. When he came to Fred and George, they offered him a job. 100 drabbley musings of the Weasley twins, the Grim Reaper, a Muggle Detective and a Magizoologist. Fred x OC, George x Luna. Part of Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives.
1. Hands

**A/N:** One hundred 100-word Fred and George drabbles with Death! While this is vaguely linked to my story (Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives) you don't need to know anything about it other than Nox is an OC and Fred's love interest.

**Challenge 001:** Hands  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters:** Fred, Death**  
Word Count:** 101 (bugger XD)

'Who roar for the sub-warden?" _Everybody_ roared, but whether it was for the Sub-Warden, or not, did not clearly appear: some were shouting "Bread!" and some "Taxes!", but no one seemed to know what it was they really wanted.'

_- Sylvie and Bruno by Lewis __Caroll_

**Less Bread! More Taxes!**

**001: Hands**

It was downright rude the way mortals went on about his hands. _The bony fingers of Death_, that's what they called them. Hard, cold, firm, unyielding; when they took hold of you, you were a goner – pushing up the petunias before dawn.

Death rather fancied he had nice hands; attractive even. They were long and certainly a little pale, but hardly bony. If mortals were so determined to remain morbid, uncouth creatures, then it was no skin off his back.

He wrapped his hand around Fred Weasley's soul and hauled it off the battlefield, muttering, "Bony indeed. No respect at all."

**oOo**

Please Comment : )


	2. Smile

**Challenge 002:** Smile  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters:** Fred, Nox (OC)**  
****Word Count:** 101

**002: Smile**

The ghost of Fred Weasley had a horrible smile.

When normal people smile – that is, people who are not a Weasley twin – you know that behind that thin layer of skin there works a complex system of facial muscles pulling and straining against each other. When normal people smile, their mouths widen and their cheeks bunch up and their eyes twinkle merrily in good humour.

When Fred's silvery face smiled that Cheshire cat grin, you knew there was something more at work than the memory of tissue and muscles and biology.

Nox sighed. Fred Weasley had a horrible smile.

Horribly captivating.

**oOo**

Please Comment : )


	3. On a Clear Day

**A/N:** Sorry, I meant to put the time frame for each drabble! Cheers for the reviews guys!****

Challenge 003: On a Clear Day  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters:** Fred, Nox (OC)**  
****Timeframe:** 5 years after DH**  
Word Count:** 102 (XD)

**003: On a clear day**

The legend went that two dragons, one red, one white, fought a timeless battle miles beneath the city streets, and their fury and rage were held responsible for the ensuing rain which bucketed down continuously between the months of January and December, with a brief break in May (evidently even dragons need a tea break).

Today happened to be May 2nd. Nothing but blue skies.

"Viva la resistance!" Fred thrust his hands deep into his pockets and breathed. "Corking day. Fancy getting in some cloud watching in Hyde Park?"

Nox snorted. "Don't be daft. You can't cloud-watch without clouds."

"Such a pessimist."

**oOo**

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	4. Song, Poem

**Challenge 004:** Song/Poem  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters/Pairing:** Luna x George**  
****Timeframe:** GOF**  
Word Count:** 101 (one day I'll get it smack bam on 100!)

**  
008: Song/poem**

_Georgie Porgie, puddin' and pie_

Whenever Luna Lovegood glimpsed George Weasley in the Great Hall, or down by the burn near Ottery St Catchpole, or out climbing on the great willow close to the Hogwarts lake, straight on the heels of his identical twin prankster, she was always reminded of that particular nursery rhyme.

_Kissed the girls and made them cry_

Luna vaguely wondered if any of the girls George Weasley had ever kissed were there afterwards reduced to tears.

This thought was readily dismissed.

Even Luna could admit that there are certain things in the world which are entirely implausible.

**oOo**

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	5. Where the Wind Blows

**Challenge 005:** Where the Wind Blows  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters/Pairing:** Fred**  
****Timeframe:** Five years after DH**  
Word Count:** 99 (...)

**  
**

**005: Where the Wind Blows**

One thing Fred missed, now that he was dead and buried and floating palely beside his twin, was the wind. Nothing had made him feel more alive than the wind through his hair.

When George first bought the old townhouse in London they now shared, it had been dank and dark and huge. Five years on and Fred could swear the house had grown danker, darker, huger. Sometimes he suspected it ran as deep as Gringotts, if not deeper. Occasionally, he would feel a cold draft brush his silver cheek there, but it did not make him feel alive.

**oOo**

Please Comment : )


	6. Evening Glow

**Challenge 006:** Evening Glow  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters/Pairing:** Nox, Fred, George**  
****Timeframe:** Five years after DH**  
Word Count:** 99 (twitch)

**  
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**006: Evening Glow **

It had snuck up on her, this comfortable ritual. After the rigour of work – chasing unwanted poltergeists, foul-tempered ghouls and even a few prickly ghosts out of chapels, theatres, museums and crumbly old mansions, Nox would return home to a house laden with booby-traps and canary crèmes.

After tea (often a dangerous game of Russian roulette), everything would wind down and the three of them would settle around the fire's evening glow, sometimes in conversation, sometimes in silence. At 8:30, George would cross to the dusty old piano in the corner. Nox had never heard music quite like it.

**oOo**

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	7. Best Friend

**Challenge 007:** Best Friend  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters/Pairing:** Death, Nox's father**  
****Timeframe:** During DH, 1997**  
Word Count:** (cough) not telling...  
**WARNING:** Somewhat massive spoilers for TVPD

**  
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**007: Best Friend**

"A TOAST!" Edward cried, spilling his Firewhiskey over his round belly. "A toast to the Grim Reaper, Azrael, the Angel of Death, The Messenger, the Wind before Dawn, the Shadow in our Eyes!" His blue eyes twinkled merriment. "May he never have to pick himself up."

The Grim Reaper smiled – if you could call it a smile. Most children, and some weak-hearted adults too, had spent many sleepless night sobbing into their pillows after witnessing Death's 'smile'. Not Edward. Instead, the old Squib would point and guffaw and hammer his fist on the table, then toast him. But then, the sole-purpose of a best friend was to mock you relentlessly.

**oOo**

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	8. Heart Beat

**Challenge 008:** Heart Beat  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters:** Fred, Nox (OC)**  
****Timeframe:** During Twin Vice, Five Years after DH**  
Word Count:** 100

**008: Heart Beat**

The human heart was a funny old thing, Fred mused. It was the centre of a fleshie's universe, figuratively and factually speaking. The heart worked tirelessly around the clock, pumping two thousand gallons of blood throughout the body, beating one-hundred thousand times a day, and what did it get in return? Blame for all the grief, bitterness, hurt, vices and heartbreak a fleshie ever suffered; quite a record for one apple-sized pump.

Across the office, Nox was shuffling papers importantly, trying in earnest to look anywhere else but him. Fred smiled. He'd certainly been careless to lose his heart twice

**oOo**

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	9. Nap Time

**Challenge 009:** Nap Time  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters:** Fred, Nox (OC)**  
****Timeframe:** During Twin Vice (May), Five Years after DH**  
Word Count:** 100

**009: Nap Time  
**

"Why is it that for eleven out of twelve months of the year we dream of heatwaves, imagine ourselves skipping through Hyde Park in enormous sun hats, Victoria Beckham sunglasses and floaty white dresses, playing volleyball under a spray of water from a carefully positioned hosepipe, but when we finally get one, we crawl indoors, close the curtains, turn on the Eastenders omnibus and take a nap?"

"What's Eastenders?" Fred mumbled, stretched along the couch behind Nox with one hand down the front of her bra. "I thought you were asleep."

"Too hot," she said, then added mildly, "My nipple is not a worry-bead."

**oOo**

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	10. A Place to Relax

**Challenge 010:** A Place to Relax  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters:** George x Luna**  
****Timeframe:** During Twin Vice (after 6th casebook), Five Years after DH**  
Word Count:** 100

**010: A Place to Relax**

She found George lying on the rooftop of the gable-house behind Weasley Manor. One freckled arm lay across his face, shielding his eyes from the sun's glare. But Luna did not need to see George's eyes to know what colour they were. She slipped out of her flip flops and climbed up beside him.

"I heard you fell asleep at work today and Lee had to carry you home."

"Don't tell Fred." He smiled. "I'm not that tired."

"Sometimes the person himself is the last to know when they are over-exerting themselves." She placed a cool hand on his forehead. "Relax now. You might not get another chance…"

**oOo**

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	11. Ocean, Beach

**Challenge 011:** Ocean/Beach  
**Prompts by**: Ravensangel on Deviantart  
**Characters:** George**  
****Timeframe:** During Twin Vice, Five Years after DH**  
Word Count:** 108 (XD I give up...)

**011: Ocean/Beach**

Every bank holiday Monday, Brighton beach was flooded with Londoners desperate to fill their lungs with the coastal town's fresh sea-air. Understandable, George reasoned, as fresh anything was hard to come by in smoggy old London. Sadly, his was not a pleasure outing. There had been a spurt of young couples complaining that their snogging sessions underneath the pier were being rudely interrupted by a loud and raucous hoodlum, though they could not see who.

He wiped a glob of green gunk from his green-tailed jacket. Removing poltergeists was never a pleasant experience. George wondered if they would ever have a normal holiday.

The very thought terrified him.

**oOo**

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	12. Breakfast

**Challenge 012:** Breakfast  
**Characters/Pairings:** Fred/Nox, George **  
****Timeframe:** During Twin Vice, Five Years after DH**  
Word Count:** I completely give up on the 100 word limit.

**012: Breakfast**

"It's not like I've got any choice in the matter. I'd probably love you if you were an old sock."

Nox peered over her issue of _The Times_, looking vaguely amused. "That's not the greatest declaration of love I've ever heard, Fred."

He waved his spectral hands impatiently. "Hold on, not done yet. I was going to continue onto a nice romantic analogy; if you were a sock, I'd wear you on my foot every day without fail and never take you off, not even to pick the crust from between my toes. That's how much I love you. You are essential to the well-being of my crust-covered foot."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't think I'd like living around your foot every day - especially one covered in crust."

"Well I don't have a foot, so it's neither here nor there. Alright, I'd love you even if you were a dog-"

"Fred."

"A fish."

"Fred."

"A bloke!"

"You'd turn to bestiality and shag a bloke just for me? How sweet of you. I feel a swoon coming on."

"Excellent! Now it's your turn."

"My turn to do what?"

"Say stuff. Nice stuff. Stuff about my high brow, come-to-bed eyes and broad shoulders, or what a huge package I've got."

She raised a brow, teasingly. "Now, how would I know that?"

"Fair point," he allowed, as his twin sauntered into the room. "Oi, George, whip your trousers off a sec!"

George blinked. "What? Before breakfast?"

**oOo**

I just have no idea where that came from. XD Comment always appreciated!! Cheers! : )


	13. The Person I Love Most

**Challenge 013:** The Person I Love Most  
**Characters/Pairings:** Nox, Edward, Caithion**  
Timeframe:** During Deathly Hallows, Christmas**  
Word Count:** Like, _totally_ and _completely_ give up on the 100 word limit.

"They're singing out there again. That's the third time today. If anyone was ever in any doubt that it was Christmas, they'd only have to step out their cars here for a minute. There's even frost on the window panes. And a robin tweeting on a snow sprinkled branch. It's like looking at one of those ruddy awful festive cards Grandma sends us."

Nox was sitting in the window box of their latest abode – a village somewhere west of Inverness. She'd forgotten the name of it. It had been the third move this month.

She sighed. "It's almost sickeningly festive. If you could take the lid off the scene you would find an assortment of sugared biscuits inside."

She took her hand off her chin and turned towards the lean figure of Caithion Sidhe, (known to others, but only briefly, as Death), who was sitting spider-like at a very neat desk reading a paper on the wintertime eating habits of Phookas. His eyes momentarily slid to the window. Down below, a group of children could be heard crooning, 'falalalala lalalala'.

Death grunted and lit a cigarette. "Humbug."

"SALUTATIONS!"

The front door was thrust open. A figure, who at first glance you would have expected to find climbing down the chimney, came striding into the flat clutching various large and half-hazardly wrapped gifts.

"_'Ahh, the time has come to talk of food and things, of bethicals and mustard seeds and other seasonings!'_" sang the man who was predominantly made up of two large circles, a moustache and a ceaseless optimistic grin.

"Dad."

"'_We'll mix them all together in a sauce that's fit for kings CALU, CALAY, WE EAT TODAY-_'"

"Dad."

"_'-like cabbages aaaaand–'_"

"If you don't cease that blithering, confounded, cat-hollering sorry excuse you call music, Edward, I will be forced to write you off few years early," said Caithion, tapping his cigarette against its ashtray without turning so much as an eye towards the portly Squib in the doorway.

"My sentiments exactly," Nox added, eyeing the packages and bags of food in her father's arms. "Sod it all, you get worse every year. You've bought more food for Christmas dinner than we could possibly eat in a month. Three courses does _not_ constitute a light snack."

"That's not including the cheese and nuts," Caithion added, wryly.

Edward merely grinned and wagged a finger in their faces. He often grinned. He was the sort of man who would grin even if he had just sat on a pinecone, which, incidentally, he just had. "Pah! Today is Christmas Eve!" he declared, as if it weren't already painfully obvious by the number of red rings he had circled around the date on the calendar. "Who knows who might come through the door. Best to have the mince pies steaming and the mulled wine simmering at all times, what!"

"In this current climate, I would have expected you might want to keep a low profile," Caithion muttered quietly, and even as he said it he realised what a ridiculous concept this was. The phrase 'low profile' did not sit well with Edward, who was now hanging a string of cardboard cut-outs featuring kittens holding Christmas puddings.

Nox watched them with mild curiosity. She had never understood the infatuation with puppies and kittens. Yes, yes, they were all very fluffy and cute, but the concept of dressing them up in Christmas hats and sticking them onto cards, or making them into little chocolate figures to hang on the tree was completely lost on her. On the other hand, Edward seemed to like them very much. He even tittered. It was the most annoying titter in the world.

And the singing was getting louder.

"Good grief," she sighed.

"Blast it all, to the pits with your Scroogeness!" Edward chided. "What you need is a good old fashioned party. Why in my day I'd have drank so much eggnog by this time I'd been sick twice by now. Come, let us all play hunt the proverbial slipper, then you two can have one of your festive rows and then we can all sit around the telly and watch anything that's not the Queen's speech. Ooh! And then we can play Charades!"

"I'm busy, Ed. It's Christmas," Caithion muttered, with a rather obvious hint. "Quite an unfortunate time for mortals."

"Poppycock!" Edward hushed, and shoved a large mince pie into the Grim Reaper's jaws.

Nox grinned despite herself. She had seen powerful men, glamorous women and arrogant little toerags who dared to call themselves children all cower under Caithion's steely glare. Even she had never dared to cross him. She was not frightened of Caithion, but often she found looking at him was a little like looking at the sea when the waters rage and realising with utter certainty that the world was a very deep, old place and she was merely visiting it for a very brief holiday.

Not Edward, though. Edward looked at the waters raging and greeted them like an old friend.

Sometimes Nox found it hard to believe she was her father's daughter. They were neither of them alike. When she was a child, she spoke as a child; she dreamed as a child; she wept as a child, but in many ways she had been the adult she would one day become – solitary and a little cold. When her mother had left Edward, Nox had put away childish things for good. It had been her duty, because surely Edward, with his daft grin, hair-brained schemes, kittens with puddings and, currently, mince pie in his moustache, could ever look after himself without his enormous reserve of luck one day running out. And when those childish things were put away, Nox believed she was finally seeing things with clarity. The world was rationally explained.

She smiled, watching as her father jigged around the Christmas tree with a tacky oversized Santa hat clinging onto his head for dear life.

Rational thinking was a lonely thing.

**oOo**

**A/N:** I wrote this one ages ago but never completed it, because I wasn't really sure where I was going with it. Still not entirely sure it works, but I like the bit about Nox anyway. I hope I got across her strong feelings for her dad anyway. I think one of Nox's strongest traits is her protective nature, even if she doesn't show it in the most obvious of ways. XD And by the way, I have those kittens holding Christmas puddings lol


	14. Cold Smile

**Challenge 014:** Cold Smile  
**Characters/Pairings:** George Weasley**  
Timeframe:** Post Deathly Hallows Battle

_They all hold hands and dance in circles.__  
Zig, zig, zag. You can see in the crowd__  
The king dancing among the peasants.  
But hist! All of a sudden, they leave the dance,  
They push forward, they fly; the cock has crowed.  
Oh what a beautiful night for the poor world!  
Long live death and equality!_

- La Danse Macabre

Bodies lay recumbent in the main hall. Fifty or more gazing blankly at the bewitched ceiling, indifferent to the weather. Outside in the dark grounds the grass was still flattened where fallen warriors (children, dead in their pajamas) had lain.

If ever you've walked in an old graveyard where the outer walls are crumbling and ravens sit on tombstones covered in ivy, the skull and crossbones motif and epitaph barely legible, you will notice how distant death seems in comparison to the sleek new cemetery down the road, where each gravestone shines black or slate grey in the watery sunlight and the earth is freshly turned.

Here, like the new cemetery, death hung thick in the air like a shroud over the castle, permeating the very walls of Hogwarts. And I knotted my fingers in his hair, each red strand identical to my own, and tried in vain to pull him away from the rhythm of that timeless dance. But off he'd gone, with no path for me to follow.

And yet, in every way that counted, I too was dead.

On the surface, I shrugged and grinned, and comforted, and joked, because you had to, didn't you? You can't lose yourself to the grave, even if inside you're screaming and weeping and howling like an animal. La Danse Macabre goes on, indifferent to whom it picks up in the rhythm, but often it will take a piece of your heart first before it takes the whole package.

And sometimes it buries your smile before your flesh.

**oOo**

**A/N:** I think this kind of sums up how I picture George after the Battle of Hogwarts. I don't think he's the type who will ever stop smiling, with or without Fred, but the quality of his smile has certainly changed.

The thing about the graveyard - I always feel comfortable in old graveyards. For example, there's a very old 14th/15th century graveyard in my uni town and whether it's the middle of the day or middle of the night I never feel spooked out by it. The neighbouring new graveyard on the other hand scares the freakin' beejeebus out of me. You'd think it would be the other way around, but no. XD It's the same deal in my home town.


	15. A Beginning

**Challenge 015:** A Beginning  
**Characters:** Arthur Weasley, Xenophilius Lovegood, Edward  
**Timeframe:** During Prisoner of Azkaban  
**Note:** Co-Written with Caith

Arthur and Xenophilius drew in a sharp take of breath as their old friend pulled back the protective cover. The mirror stood at at least seven feet. Even in the state it was, bashed and beaten and missing the glass within the frame, it was still quite breathtaking.

"Remarkable craftsmanship, Ed," Arthur whistled appreciatively, running one hand over the fine silver scales of the frame. "Looks to be Goblin work. Maybe five hundred years?"

"Five hundred years?!" Xenophlius squawked, indignantly. "Five hundred years my foot! Why it's a thousand years at least. And this is never Goblin craftmanship. This is quite obviously the work of the blind seafaring rats of the northern wastes. You can tell by the little scratchings here-"

"I'm sure Bill would know," Arthur conceded. "Where did you find it?"

Edward puffed up with pride. "A gentleman never discloses he where he procures his wares."

Arthur and Xenophilius exchanged a look.

Then Arthur said dryly, "Got it off the Black Market, then?"

_Previously..._

The Cyclops tended to have a murderous glint in the eye at the best of times, but after being burgled the glint turned to a blinding gleam that would have frozen the very marrow in your bones, which was unfortunate for Death, considering that half the time that's all he had to go on. Life, using the term lightly, had been very stressful for him since the day he had met the fat enigma that was Edward Balthazar McRozen. And frankly his job was hard enough as it was. The hours were terrible, the pay was tenuous and no one, repeat, NO ONE was ever happy to see you. It was like working Lost Luggage at Heathrow airport. Throwing Edward into the mix was like a Union strike and a blizzard hitting Heathrow at Christmas. And people dared question why he smoked.

"Dash it all, looks like the old boy noticed us!"

"You took a mirror from an Ogre's hoard."

"Just a little one."

"We need to teach you the fine art of bargaining, Ed. You suck at it."

There was a furious roar from within the bowels of the cave behind them, quickly followed by heavy footsteps that threatened copious pain, followed by much crumpling of the self.

Edward wrinkled his great moustache. "Hm, well, good fellow, I suggest we flee for my life."

"How astute. I agree."

**oOo**

About time I wrote something with these three (I'm very fond of this quirky trio and duo). Comments as always very much appreciated! Merry Christmas!x


	16. Ten

**Challenge 016:** Ten  
**Characters:** Fred, George, Luna, Nox  
**Timeframe:** During Twin Vice  
**A/N**: Ten short drabbles. I had these posted up as a separate story, but decided as a mere writing practise they weren't good enough to warrant their own separate entry, so I've added them to the drabbles here. Enjoy!

**#01 - Hero**

Fred always wanted to be a hero and now that's exactly what he is, but being six feet under and pushing up daisies, he can't help but feel a bit cheated.

**#02 - Memory**

When Fred first met Nox he thought she was a gangly, sharp-witted, cynical Muggle with a disquieting habit of insulting people without realizing it. He never for a moment suspected that these were the things he would come to love about her the most.

**#03 - Silence**

In her first month living in Weasley Manor, Detective Nox learned not to fear the noise and frequent explosions that came from the twins' laboratory, but rather to fear the silence, and the scheming it disguised.

**#04 - Box**

After half a dozen black eyes, bloody noses and a few alarming canary transformations, Nox learned never again to open a box addressed from the twins.

**#05 - Talent**

Fred has a talent for making trouble. Nox has a habit of getting into it.

**#06 - Candle**

They worked long nights back then and in those last few days before their final case together Nox found herself stealing quick glances at Fred's face, admiring the way the candlelight softened his normally wickedly mischievous features.

**#07 - Laugh**

It was rare to catch Luna tumble into a fit of open-mouthed laughter, but whenever George told one of his jokes she was always the first to laugh and the last to finish. It was on those occasions that George saw how lonely she had been without them.

**#08 - Cold**

The first time Fred's ghostly arms wrapped around her shoulders it felt like she had been plunged into a bucket of ice cold water, but these days when he brushes against her there's a different feeling; a prickly heat that's far more unnerving.

**#09 - Gravity**

"Why are you so afraid of heights anyway?" asked Fred, smirking devilishly.

"I'm not afraid of heights," she replied indignantly. "I'm afraid of gravity."

**#10 - Breath**

Distantly Fred remembers a fraction of time when the light burst in his vision and his breath ceased, and he descended stiffly into darkness with his last joke still tugging at the corners of his mouth. He's dead as a doornail, bereft of life, kicked the bucket and well and truly shuffled off his mortal coil, but one kiss makes him forget all that. And as he looks at Nox, he realises.

We save lives in such unlikely ways.

**oOo**

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**A/N: **Random, I know. XD But hey, drabbles are great writing practise! That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. Please review = )**  
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	17. Red Heads

**Challenge 017:** Red Heads  
**Characters:** Caithion, Edward, Fred  
**Timeframe:** During Half Blood Prince

"Who knew Death was a raging poof!" Edward bellowed with laughter, rubbing tears from his eyes.

Somehow Caithion remained dignified in the face of the fat old Squib's voracious laughter, arms folded and cigarette burning away between his ivory pale lips.

"It may have escaped your brilliant mind, Ed, but I am neither male nor female. Indeed, I am barely an I."

"You are too!" Edward said earnestly. "I've seen you take a slash!"

Caithion shot him a dirty look. "The typical laws of gender and attraction hardly matter to anthropomorphic personifications of mortality. My form depends purely on what people expect to see, and humans always expect to see _something_ when the bell tolls. In Germany I appear as the Erl King, in Ireland the Grey Lady." He tapped his cigarette ash on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron. "Now drop it."

There was a short silence.

Edward propped his elbows on the table, cupping his chin in his hands and watched the Irishman's pale, handsome face with the wide-eyed curiosity of a child.

"Can you turn into a red head?" The Squib grinned. "I love red heads."

At that moment Fred Weasley strutted through the door of the Leaky Cauldron, with all the irritating confidence of a rutting peacock. Caithion's glare sharpened.

"Even Death has standards."

**oOo**

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**A/N:** Let's face it, Fred and Death will never be best pals**  
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